Monday, 13 February 2012

As she looked at the ever-present bags under her eyes, she realised that her body clock was indeed ticking. If she listened hard enough, she was almost certain she could hear it. She sub-consciously put her hands tenderly to her belly and rubbed it. A smile crossed her lips as she remembered the bump that had made her so happy.The smile left, quicker than it came. That bump, or lack of, was now a constant threat to her marriage. The very dynamic of her family life had been turned upside down in the aftermath of that bump.
She hardly knew what to expect as she nervously blurted out,
'I'm late!'
They had been so happy together, they were a team. When he cheered and span her around so her feet were flying through the air her heart could have fluttered right out of her open mouth.
She wanted that feeling again. Now, it was him and her. She needed an ally. Is she even dared to open her mouth to her naughty daughter, the two of them would shout her down. The time for discussion was over.
'We have one perfect child, why would you want another one,' he would patronisingly reply.
It was time to restore the balance, to even up the teams, and most of all to be swept up and spun around in the arms of her happy husband again.
As she tipped her pills into the toilet, and pierced holes in her husbands condoms with a sewing needle she allowed herself to smile for the second time that evening. As she pictured her husband waving the condoms in her face and saying
'You can never be too careful!' she convulsed with laughter.

His long face was beginning to resemble the withered poinsettia he once cared so much for. His latest business venture had failed miserably. 'The future is online,' he told his wife. An online fortune telling business...who knew it wouldn't take off. She had actually laughed in his face when he told her.
It was her bloody idea to start his own business in the first place. He fingered the silver locket round his neck containing her photo, and with the picture of her laughing face embedded in his mind, he ripped it off and threw it in a rage.
He walked over to the mirror and took a long look at his reflection. The auburn was growing out of his hair, and the grey roots were coming through thick and fast. He sighed as he saw the lap-top he was struggling to pay for in the reflection. He remembered happier days when he wasn't so bogged down with divorce settlements and computer payments and he had spare money for luxuries, hair dye being one.
He weighed up his options while he absent-mindedly sharpened a pencil. He was a recently divorced, middle aged man, with a failed online fortune telling business behind him, struggling to pay for a lap-top he didn't even want, and he had grey/auburn hair. Form an orderly que ladies.
An ironic smile crossed his lips, and he even almost laughed before driving the pencil straight into his eye, right through to his brain. He didn't worry anymore.

Have you ever seen a sea of screwed up paper? Its a wonder there is even room for furniture, sparse though it is.
A desk, popping out from the vast paper expanse, like an island on stilts. An uncomfortale chair, as wooden as the desk. Sitting upon the desk however, the most beautiful object in the room; a pen. A pen of such beauty, one can only imagine that any word that sprang from its magnificent tip would be pure gold.
Dirty coffee mugs surround the pen, outnumbering it ten to one. They stare at it, stifling its creativity, daring it to fulfil its potential. One coffee mug lies broken against the wall. Its contents stain the wall; a constant reminder that a fit of rage is only temporarily calming.

Sunday, 12 February 2012

Nothing could possibly excite me more, than pulling a tooth to Beehoven's 9th. Oh wonderous joy! Is it the pulling of the tooth, a mere violent act. In silence, there is no art to it, it is just a job. Is it just the music? No, I can enjoy the music alone but it's just not enough. Coupled with the savage act of pulling a tooth from a person's mouth though it's a truly remarkable thing.
Just reaching into their mouth, toying with the tooth, tugging and twisting through the Allegra non troppo, um poco maestoso is enough to make any man go moist. 'We enter drunk with fire!' The stormy opening of the pianissimo over the string tremolos as battle commences!
I normally feel the tooth loosen as we move into the scherzo, and I pause...to compose in mid-air with my dental pliers. With a triumphant grunt, work must go on, and as I go back in the tooth begins to surrender.'Join in our jubilation!'
The third movement, the Adagio molto e cantabile. Oh, ode to joy, the lyrical soft movement comes in when it becomes evident that victory is imminent. I lessen my efforts to savour the moment of victory. 'Joyful, as a hero to victory!'
Finally, timed to perfection, victory is mine with the forth and final movement, and with the presto the tooth is pulled. I hold my trophy aloft to my dental light. A perfect whole tooth, pulled from a clean wound. 'Joy, beautiful spark of divinity!'I love being a dentist!

What's that sound? Applause...but not for me. Whoever heard of the slapping together of hands for big red lips? Or for two giant shoes perhaps, not even half-full. Perhaps I could live in one of those? But where then, I hear you ask would my tiny feet reside....Maybe I could stay with Bozo for a while? Or I heard Koko's parents are out of town. If only I hadn't upset good old gonzo. hy do clowns only hang around clown's? 'Stick to your own.' That's what my Dad always said. 'You were born a clown, from a long line of clown's and you'll die a clown.' At least other clown's don't laugh at me. That's the problem, no one laughs anymore. That's why I didn't get paid.

Third person limited omniscient:
As she looked at him, she realised what she had to do. She was fond of him, she always would be, but it was'nt enough. He was handsome, rich, and he loved the bones of her, but she felt nothing for him anymore.
Since that kiss, her mind was elsewhere. 'What kind of man wants to plan his own wedding anyway?' she asked herself. She had tried to drive him away; ignoring him for days on end, showing no affection, even belittling him in front of his own friends.
He showed her no emotion, no anger, no pain, just the same inane smile. 'That's ok honey,' or 'You're just tired honey,' was all the reaction he could muster. It just made him try harder, and be nicer. She was'nt interested in 'nice.'
Deep down she knew she did'nt hate him. She pitied him for being such a doormat, but she was starting to dislike herself for dragging this on. She wanted out. She needed excitement, and she knew where to find out. She knew Joe would treat her like shit, that he would'nt call, and she had even felt physically threatened by him, but just the thought of that unclean man could make her neck spasm with anticipation. She shuddered as she thought of him and she felt alive.
'Time to stop being a coward,' she whispered. She was going to put him out of his misery and tell him she wouldn't marry him. He'd probably just squeak 'That's okay honey,' anyway.Third person omniscient:
He'd had a tough upbringing. Raised on tough love, or no love. No money. A small, awkward child, he'd grown into a fierce, handsome man. His hard youth had given him a determination to succeed and a ruthless streak to be feared. He had the world at his feet.
She was the first person to ever show him any tenderness, or love in his whole life, and he would do anything to get it back. When he thought back to when they were first dating, his heart leapt. For the memories alone, he would love her unconditionally as long as he lived, and he would do anything to win her back around.
She'd agreed to marry him, so he would just keep buying her gifts and letting her have her own way until things were back to how they were. 'I wonder what she wants to say?' he asked himself.
'Look at his pathetic face,' she thought, 'bet he won't even put up a fight.' She thought of Joe, and a ripple of excitement shot through her body.
He noticed her smile, and feeling relieved he told her, 'It's okay honey, whatever it is, we can work it out.'
She winced, she hated being called 'honey.' She looked him in the eye and just blurted it out, 'I don't want to marry you!'Third person objective:
He slapped her hard across the face. The sharp crack echoed around the room. She blinked, and swallowed hard, but she didn't cry.
He didn't apologise, but looked at his hand for a few seconds and smiled. 'That felt good,' he told her. She looked stunned, and just sat there speechless.
He walked over to the window, fished around in his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes and some matches. He lit one up and threw the match on the floor. After a long drag he slowly exhaled and faced her again.
'So, who is he?' he asked, suddenly business-like. She took a while to find her voice.
'Fuck you,' she replied.
He walked slowly across the room until his face was inches from hers. He smiled, and took another deep drag from his cigarette. After blowing the smoke in her face, he slapped her again, this time harder than before.
'I didn't know you smoked,' was her only reply.
'There's a lot you don't know about me, but you're about to find out. I won't ask again. Who is he?'

15 hours on a bus. You don't even have a seat. There's so many people packed on the bus, and you are in much closer proximity to strangers than you feel comfortable with.
You have always hated the smell of sweat, yet there it is. No matter which way you direct your nostrils, the smell will find them. Is it better to crouch down near someones arse? Or to have your face stuffed into someones armpit? You can't decide.
Worse than the human sardine can, even worse than the smell, is the loneliness. Everyone else has a travel companion. Lovers, friends, families. Yu have noone. Noone to laugh at the locals with you. Noone to make the smell bearable with hunmour. Noone.
The realisation that you are alone suddenly makes you feel vulnerable. Did he just grab your bum? You panic, and you struggle for breath. Everyone looks, but noone looks concerned.
'I'll be waiting for you at the other end,' he had promised on the phone. Suddenly the smell becomes funny, and you crack a smile. Only 15 hours to go.

The terrible story of tomato head,
Who gobbled tomatoes, ignoring what the doctor said
'you could be more careful, you eat them too fast,
Someone turned into a turnip the week before last!'
Joey wasn't ashamed and continued to scoff

What did the doc know? The silly old toff
One fateful day, he opened the fridge up
Filled with tomatoes from bottom to top
He scoffed and he stuffed his greedy chops
Not stopping for breath to bring his head up

When all of a sudden with a yelp and a yell
Joey's small head began to swell
The yell turned back into a yelp
For no one was even on hand to help!

It swelled and it swelled, and began to turn red
And filled dear Joey with absolute dread
From the top of his head, grew a green sprout
And poor Joey shouted out, his very last shout

It's going round and red and red and round
And no one sees as i sink to the ground
Now in came his brother for a tasty treat
A tomato is exactly what he wanted to eat

His eyes befell the big juicy fruit
Deliscious and bulging, unguarded to boot
His belly rumbled and he thought it was fate
He picked up poor Joey and ate and he ate

Now this disaster fills us all with dread
If silly Joey listened to what the doctor said
He wouldn't have turned into tomato head
And be in his brothers belly stone dead.

If I could have just one wish
I'd wish I'd never murdered that fish
I picked him up, and choked him to death
And I laughed, as he breathed his last fishy breath,
Now I'm filled with remorse and regret
To cheer myself up, I'll get another pet.

For Mr Matchstick and Mrs Candlestick,
Wedded life was not one of bliss!
'It's no wonder I have got the hump,
I'm stuck with you, you waxy lump!'
'You're really starting to get on my wick,
I'm lumbered with you, you burnt out stick!'

Mr Match and Mrs Candlestick
Had one hell of a party trick
He'd drag his flammable head along a rough wall
And then, to the delighted gasps of all
With a kiss, he'd ignite her waxy head
'She's hot' he'd cry, 'that's why we wed!'
Then to applause and a frightened shout
He'd casually lean in and blow the flame out

More applause...and 'wow' someone said!
But poor Mr Matchstick was filled with dread
He thought he'd gone mad, or could he be drunk?
For to him, his wife looked as though she had shrunk...
But he loved the applause...so like a chump
He carried on until his wife was just a waxy lump!!!

Onion head, was an unlucky one,
Always had to avoid the sun
If he got hot, his skin would peel
And evryone would start to squeal
An onion scent would fill the sky
And poor onion would be blamed for making everyone cry